music on the waters is thy sweet voice
by kaaterina petrova
Summary: In the once-great city of Limos, the unbearable heat of the sun is as furious as Rebekah's anger at being chained. A devoted priestess of her temple, Caroline is chosen to be sacrificed at the altar, in the hopes of reaping a bountiful harvest. And up above, the Hybrid God has tried to capture her smile on paper too long for it to mean nothing. / klaroline.


**one:** so the vampire diaries has ended and i thought i could at least begin to recover but then "THAT IS THE BEGINNING OF ANOTHER STORY" happened and long story short, i'm a wreck. lol, my whole life, though. literally, as i've been writing this and rewriting this, i've just been dying over these two goddamn characters, like what did they do to you, you poor things. so. much. _potential_. i could go into a whole rant about how badly julie plec treated these characters but that would be the beginning of another story, lol

 **two** : to be honest, i've got absolutely no idea what this is supposed to be, like i'm just dead now klaus and caroline have rendered me to actual nothing. fgs why can't they just get together omg these idiots "they're fictional characters, you sad sack" this story is so long please don't kill me

 **three: *** whispers* the originals and vampire diaries seasons four to eight, barring those magical klaroline scenes in season four, don't exist okay bye

* * *

 **music on the waters is thy sweet voice**

.

.

 _They_ _slipped briskly_

 _Into an intimacy_

 _From which they never recovered._

 **F. SCOTT FITZGERALD,** ** _THIS SIDE OF PARADISE_**

.

 _And like_ _ **music on the waters**_

 ** _Is thy sweet voice_** _to me._

 **LORD BYRON** ** _,_** ** _STANZAS FOR MUSIC_**

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.

 **ACT ONE**

Limos is bathed in the golden light of the dawn. The Greek city has not yet awakened, the soft rays of the sun casting languid lines of gold over the steps of the Temple of Rebekah.

Caroline hurries up the steps of the temple, her bare feet touching slowly warming marble.

She's breathless when she reaches the top, guiltily glancing up at the marbled statue. Lady Rebekah is framed in dawning morning light, carved in ice blue marble. Her cheeks are high and her gaze is haughty as she stares down at Caroline disapprovingly. The goddess is beautiful, but in a way that makes her untouchable; she is timeless.

"Grant us a good harvest, my lady," Caroline prays, her voice light and patient enough that it might not be considered lacklustre by some passing stranger. She lights the fires around the temple, watches the blazes flicker like living things. "Though you haven't listened to our pleas for the last six years," she murmurs to herself, her voice so quiet even the gods can't hear her, "so I suppose this is seventh time lucky? Keep us safe from the beasts at our gates—and please let the solstice go well tomorrow. I put a lot of effort into my new necklace."

Caroline pauses before the altar of Lady Rebekah, tilting her head.

The haughty goddess' lips are curved into what could pass as a smile and she swallows, fraught with nervous energy, before lighting the last fire. Within her fingers, she rolls three wild berries, soft and raw and _ripe_. Wild berries are few and fleeting in Limos, as the harvest barely makes enough for the city's people to eat. Caroline had found them in some forgotten corner of the temple's gardens, had, with a hungry heart, contemplated putting them between her teeth.

"Please watch over my mother, Lady Rebekah," Caroline says, her voice low before dropping the berries into the fire. She confesses, swallowing tightly, "I miss her."

.

.

"Lady Rebekah is nothing but an ungrateful, undeserving—," Katherine begins, with a sneer that curls her lip. She only stops when she sees her sister's face and finishes, with a dramatic flourish of her fingers, " _Bitch_."

The gossamer white curtains pick up in a quick breeze, flashes of sunlight slanting across the walls. It frames light dust particles as they slowly drift to the marbled floor. Leaning against a marbled pillar and busily lacing together their dresses for the solstice, Caroline reaches out for a stray wild flower from the golden vase Katherine keeps for the gifts her various lovers give her. Its petals are still soft but the flowers are withering and yellowing quickly, under the heat of the feverish, unforgiving Limos sun.

Sheer horror paints Elena's face. She leans forward to hiss, as though the gods might be listening, "The gods punish us all, Katherine. Oh, if they were to hear you—,"

Katherine's ring of laughter is tinged with derision, soft and slow. "What more can they do?" she asks lazily, crumpling a flower within her fingers. "I've heard Ayanna talking to the Lockwoods. They think we might not have enough food to last us the year."

"What do you think they plan to do?" Caroline asks, her voice fraught with worry. Her gaze lingers over the gleaming city from the balcony.

Limos is overrun with preparations for the new solstice and there is a certain heaviness in the air. The head of the priestesses, Ayanna, is running through gleaming silks and sleek veils and golden laces and almost as if she knows they speak of her, the witch's head lifts. Caroline turns her gaze away quickly, a small flush creeping over her neck.

Katherine makes a careless gesture with her smooth, slender fingers. "Only the gods know."

.

.

The night is glorious.

Black skies are threaded with the lustre of silvered stars and the flickering, golden sparks, of the fires burning around the temples, burst into the air. Hummingbirds flit about breathlessly, and the scent of wildflowers infuse the air. Katherine seizes her fingers to pull her into the dance and Caroline laughs in delight.

She closes her eyes, her breaths easy and dreamy. The melody of the harp is golden, a hypnotising lightness taking hold of her. Caroline's arms rise and she twists her body delicately, taking her first step. Highly aware of herself, Caroline moves to the lilting strings in light, soft steps. She is giddy but graceful, feeling as though she is floating as she spins elegantly and leaps into the air.

The music is magnificent and surrounds her like a dream. When she hears raucous applause, Caroline's eyes flit open, breathless. For one moment, she thinks, _they cheer for me_. Then, Caroline turns her head to see Elena flushing, her doe-eyes wide with gratefulness. She allows a genuine smile to curve her lips upward, though her heart still pounds.

She looks away, to catch her breath, and it is then Caroline finds her gaze caught by a man.

He is motionless, looking for all the world as though he is one of the carved marble statues in the temple, but for his _eyes_. His eyes are burning and alive with hunger. The way he _stares_. He stares at her, his handsome face entranced, transfixed.

Their gazes meet for the barest instant before he turns away.

Her cheeks flushed red with the heat of dancing and embarrassment, Caroline lets out a quick, startled breath that makes her lose her balance. She stumbles, a quick motion, and her bare, pale foot twists painfully into the dry soil. Strands of flaxen gold hair tumble out around her shoulders as Caroline lets out an inadvertent, surprised cry of pain.

"Caroline?" Bonnie appears and her fingers wrap around Caroline's arm, steadying and strong. She firmly pulls Caroline from the throng of light-footed, veiled dancers. "What happened?"

Caroline winces at the sharp pain shooting up her leg. She seats herself at a bench and bends to rub at her ankle, white silk fluttering against her fingers. "It hurts," she tells her friend.

"I saw you twist it," Bonnie agrees.

Her fingers rest on the bones of her ankle briefly, cool and light. Caroline watches, half intrigued, as Bonnie's mouth moves in some silent prayer to the gods. Just as quickly as it had appeared, the pain is gone. Bonnie's lip curls upwards but there is something in her eyes, something strange and wild and wondering.

"Thanks," Caroline says, grateful. She remembers the man in a heated flash. "I was distracted," she murmurs, her voice barely perceptible. She lifts her head quickly, angrily. "He distracted me."

"Easy," Bonnie tells her, gentle but firm. She has a surprisingly strong grip for one so small, her hand on Caroline's arm. "Who?"

Caroline opens her mouth to answer, her eyes narrowed and searching. Her voice dies in her throat inexplicably and she shakes her head. "He had a handsome face," she says finally.

A wry smile takes Bonnie's lips. "Careful," she says. "You sound like Katherine."

"Take that back."

The first real laugh Caroline has heard from Bonnie bursts from her lips. She smiles into Bonnie's face, her lips breaking into an easy curve. Her smile falters when she registers Bonnie's worried eyes. Curious, she leans in and asks, "What's wrong?"

Heat from the fires wash over them but Bonnie gives an involuntary shiver. "I don't know," she confesses, quietly. "I only have a feeling. Something—something is here and it's dark and destructive. It hungers, Caroline."

The hairs on the back of her neck rise.

.

.

The cold wine drenches her parched throat, cool, honeyed stuff that gives some solace to her exhilarated body. Caroline's body still thrums with electric energy and she feels so light she thinks she could fly. In her eagerness, wine spills impatiently against her mouth, running down her neck.

She intakes a sharp, impatient huff of breath at herself.

A shadow casts against her, glowing in the flickering light of the fires. Caroline's eyes snap up and she is heady but her fingers grip the cup.

The man from the dance is dressed in grandeur and expensive silks. She wants to fidget in her simply white shift but she only lets her fingers drift against the pretty little wildflowers she and Katherine had painstakingly picked and strung around her waist. He reaches to help her steady the cup, liquid spilling, his long, slender fingers brushing against hers.

His smile is a lazy, handsome thing. "And what do they call you?"

"Caroline," she answers, and lifts her chin. "And you?"

"Lord Klaus," he replies, his voice even and calm. "I am from the North."

 _A lord_ , Caroline thinks, stunned. _He is a lord._ Her heart stutters in her chest. Automatic, her right leg traces the pale stone into a circle and she rests it against the ankle of the other, sinking into a low curtsey. She swallows. "What brings you to Limos, my lord?"

"They say the Limos sun is irresistible," he says, and his eyes linger.

Caroline's lip curls, derisive and contemptuous. _He is one of_ those _men, thinking they are owed the delicate flesh of maidens_ , she thinks. She wonders whose eye he could have possibly caught and her gaze slides to doe-eyed Elena, who dances gracefully by the fires.

She says, firmly, "They were right. Unfortunately, my lord, for you, it appears to be nightfall."

Her words thicken the air between them. Caroline wonders at her own nerve, her eyes on him, and feels heady with a strange sort of triumph. She inclines her head, briefly, respectful and turns her back on him.

"My time here doesn't last long," he tells her, barely breathless as he appears beside her, in long, loping strides. There is a wry smile at his lips.

Caroline raises an eyebrow. "And you want to spend it here, with me?"

Her gaze lingers on Elena, who captures hearts easily, briefly, before she turns her head. Smoke from the fires begins to curl about them, grey and billowing, like thin strands of a ribbon.

Klaus chuckles lowly. When she looks at him, his eyes are on her. "You think too modestly of yourself, Caroline."

She lies, "That wasn't modesty." The words are easy and smooth on her tongue, like melting honey. "That was derision."

The way he looks at her sends her heart fluttering. Caroline swallows thickly and looks away, a heated flush creeping up the column of her neck.

Klaus breaks into an easy smile. "Talk to me," he urges charmingly. "Get to know me." When she scoffs, he adds, bold, "I dare you."

"I'm a maiden of Lady Rebekah. Under her protection, I serve her." Caroline wets her lips, nervous. "Why do I feel like you want something?" Her tone is marked with suspicion.

Klaus speaks, his voice low and full of unbridled truth. "You'd be right," he confesses. "I want you. I want to know all your hopes, your dreams."

Caroline's traitorous little heart beats hard. She drifts her fingers at the wildflowers on her hips once again and lifts her head, firm. "Just so you understand, I'm too smart to be seduced by you."

His lips spread into a delighted, little smile.

.

.

The sun's light gleams the temple in gold, casting long clear lines of light against the marbled columns. The little girl reaches forward to press the offerings into Caroline's fingers.

"For my father," she tells Caroline, her voice hopeful.

"Lady Rebekah thanks you, April," Caroline says to the little girl. She watches, with a heavy heart, as a broad smile breaks across the girl's face and April runs happily back to her mother.

A few weeks later, and Elena is still speaking of him.

She says, "I saw the way he looked at you." She looks uncomfortable, her body flushed with heat. "He _lusts_ , Caroline."

Caroline straightens, with an easy, practiced smile for Elena, and drops the offerings into the fire. "He's gone, Elena." The lie slips off her tongue, her voice easy and honeyed. She adds, for Elena's peace of mind more so than her own, "Limos holds no temptations for a young lord."

"Other than me," Katherine puts in, a wild smirk about her lips. Her eyes flicker disparagingly to the carved image of Lady Rebekah, who stares haughtily down at them all. "Ayanna says she's got something to tell everyone, later. Bon-Bon won't tell me so it has to be something important." She eyes Caroline carefully, and adds, absently, "Ayanna's calling you, Elena."

Elena leaves immediately, in a swishing of her white skirts, and Katherine turns, her steady eyes on Caroline. Her lips quirk.

"You lust, too, Caroline."

Caroline's stomach does a flip as she leans to tip the bowl of fresh, clear water over the carved statue. She turns to shoot Katherine a disparaging remark, almost losing her balance, and a hand clenches over her arm to steady her.

"Careful, darling," the man says, easy charm turning his smile rakish. "Wouldn't want to get your Lady angry now."

"That bitch has been angry with us for years," Katherine tells him, helpfully. Her eyes are wild and she leans to take the man's offerings. "And what do you pray for?"

The fires blaze angry gold and the man's boyish smile broadens. "Freedom," he says in a breath. He tilts his head, suddenly mischievous. "Do you pray for your mysterious man, my lady?"

Caroline's breath catches. "He is a beast," she says, her uninhibited words spilling over themselves.

Eyes sparkling before her, the man shrugs. "Aren't we all, darling?"

He leaves, in easy, sure strides, and Katherine's eyes linger. Her lips curve upwards into a playful smile. "What do you think he is?"

"Trouble." Bonnie's voice is disparaging. She is holding a silvered platter of wild berries and fresh fruits, and automatically moves it when both Caroline and Katherine reach for it. "Hey, these are for the _meeting_."

"The oh-so-important meeting that you're not allowed to tell us anything about?" Katherine turns her head, caught.

"Can't you give us a tiny hint?" Caroline asks, beseeching. She tries for a winning smile, her lips curved upward spryly.

Bonnie shakes her head, firmly.

"Not even an itty, bitty, little clue?" Katherine rolls a berry between her fingers. "I bet you've told Elena." She drops a berry into Caroline's open palm. "I just don't get it. My sister is as dry as a dishrag," she says, "and I'm _obviously_ prettier."

"You're _twins_ ," Bonnie comments, disparaging. Her lip curls.

The reproachful tartness of the comment barely affects Katherine. She shrugs.

"Lucky for her."

.

.

Ayanna announces, "The gods punish us all."

The crowds murmur. The fire blazes brilliantly as the High Priestess of Lady Rebekah's House walks towards it, with slow, assured steps. Her long hair tumbles over her back, thick and curled, and she stokes the flames.

Caroline feels the hairs on the back of her neck begin to rise.

"There are monsters," Ayanna continues, her voice low and commanding, "at our gates. Our harvest rakes in less and less every year. Lady Rebekah is angry. She will not hear our pleas. And so, we have no choice." She pauses. "There must be a sacrifice."

The crowd shifts. Katherine's fingers are around Caroline's arm, clenching tightly until fingernails prick her skin and her knuckles turn white. "They're going to sacrifice one of us," she whispers.

"Not you," Caroline says. She holds herself lightly, her breath caught, and continues, in a voice of forced light teasing, "They need _actual_ virgins."

Katherine is still pale.

"Bonnie," Ayanna calls, her voice light and soft. "Come."

Bonnie ascends the steps of the temple slowly. There is barely a sound in the entire square, all eyes on the little Seer as she settles herself in front of the glowing flames. With bated breath, Caroline watches the golden fire blaze and die around Bonnie, leaving a ring of black ashes around her. Bonnie is ashen but there is no mistaking the sheer horror painted over her face.

For one cold, awful moment, Caroline thinks— _Elena_. For none could be so worthy of such emotion than her. She thinks, _how cruel of the gods_.

But then Bonnie speaks, her voice a small, trembling thing. "Caroline," she whispers. "I see Caroline."

The crowd is silent.

.

.

Katherine says, in a voice of forged steel, " _Run away_."

She is cold all over. But Caroline stays very still, her heart pounding away in its rib of cages. "No," she says.

It is the first thing she has said since Bonnie rendered the entire city silent with her name.

"You will _die_." Katherine's voice breaks. She stares at Caroline hopelessly, her face devoid of that murderous glare she had held in the temple. "Don't you understand, Caroline? This isn't a song. You _will_ die—,"

Caroline says, dully, "The gods have deserted us." Her head lifts and her eyes blaze, briefly. "But I will not."

"They sacrifice you for the gods! If they have deserted you, your death will be in vain!" Katherine hisses, in a hoarse voice.

"The gods punish us for neglecting them in our prayers," Elena says. "We will starve."

Her sister's face twists in fury. "So you'll sacrifice Caroline to her altar? Are you sick?"

Caroline says nothing, merely wraps her legs up under her. She can't help but want to laugh at the irony. The first time she is ever chosen for something and it is to bleed out on an altar for a merciless god. Lady Rebekah had a twisted sense of humour.

A wolf howls into the night.

Caroline lifts a hand to her cheek and it comes away wet.

.

.

The sun rises amidst an ocean of lilacs and pale pinks. Caroline cants her face to the sun, a sigh escaping her lips. She couldn't let herself sleep away her last night.

There are old witch women waiting for her outside, their faces a cool blank. They stand beside a large white tent that smells of wild roses and violets and spices. Caroline's heart begins to beat, frantic.

 _I will be brave_ , she thinks. Ayanna's grip around her arm is strong, leaving red prints against her pale skin. _Brave like Mom._

The High Priestess firmly helps Caroline into the steaming, scented bath. Hot water laps around her bare neck, drawn with lovely orange blossoms and sweet rose oil, spilling over the gold tub. Caroline watches the blossoms float away on the marble floor, half musing, and wonders if she will see her mother again.

Her skin is made soft and supple. They adorn her with expensive, silk veils and drape a heavy moonstone pendant around her neck. The cold moonstone rests against the column of her neck and her wrists are dabbed with spiced scents. Caroline is dressed with care and blessed with prayers until the glowing lines of midday light begin to flicker into the tent.

Caroline wonders if her mother's face will be unblemished or as clawed as the day she was laid to rest. She thinks of the blood still streaking from her mother's wounds, thinks of it on her fingers, thinks of screaming.

Ayanna says, "Do not be afraid." She takes her outside, her fingers wrapped tightly around her wrist.

The crowd is feverish.

She stares across them, distraught. These are people who loved her, _raised_ her. Caroline's breaths come in ragged, little gasps. They want to see my blood trickle down these steps, she thinks. The steps to Lady Rebekah's altar looms over her, looking infinitely endless, as though they could lead her to the home of the gods themselves.

Her feet bare and flinching against the sudden cold of the marbled steps, Ayanna leads her up.

 _If it were Elena_ , something dark and vicious and poisonous begins to whisper. _If it were Elena the gods tried to choose, tried to sacrifice, there would have been riots for days_.

The crowd is silent.

 _I don't want to die_ , Caroline thinks helplessly. She hopes her prayers reach him.

She lifts her eyes briefly to Lady Rebekah, and pretends to stumble. Bonnie's fingers catch her and grip her tight. "Bonnie," Caroline whispers, her voice a bare, fraught murmur. "Save me."

Ayanna firmly peels Bonnie's fingers away and leads Caroline to stand at the altar of Lady Rebekah. The goddess of spring looks forbidding, triumphant in the glorious sun.

Caroline holds herself tightly, her breaths heavy and taut with fear.

.

.

 **(IN BETWEEN)**

It happens like this.

Rebekah does not see Stefan Salvatore. She does not see him, with his ice-blue eyes, steeled with determination, sneak into a god's feast. She does not see his slender fingers curling over cups of gleaming nectar, his eyes wild and bright. She does not see him—but he sees her.

Half musing, Niklaus pores over parched papers. "The Romans are growing restless. They will revolt soon. This will be Troy, all over again."

Kol's lips break out into a wild grin. "I apologised for that little war, didn't I?" He shrugs. "In my defence, I meant to eat the apple."

The god of winter lifts his fingers and the wild berries, Rebekah had spent so long growing and tending carefully, grow cold and frost over. Rebekah bristles.

" _Nik_." She purses her lips together, aggravated. "It's a _party_ , Nik. Try to have some fun. It won't kill you."

The goddess of spring caresses a single emerald-green leaf and out grow more wild berries, ripe and sweet as roses. She feels charitable and so, accepts the hand of some lowly god into a dance. He is overly eager and spins her, her white silk skirts billowing out around her, but when she reaches for his fingers again, she finds herself clutching at thin air.

Rebekah snarls, her voice raw and vicious. Before she falls, cool fingers wrap around her outstretched hand, lacing them together, and draws her up again. She is pressed unceremoniously against a warm, solid chest and Rebekah tilts her head, scowling. The cutting remarks she had been about to make die in her throat and she regards the man with some interest.

His lips curve, his cool blue eyes watching her intently. He says, in a voice of suave gold, "Please. Help yourself."

Rebekah's eyes linger, unashamed. She promises, throatily, "Oh, I always do."

He has a handsome face, chiselled features and _such_ blue eyes. Rebekah lets him spin her, her lips drawing up into a curl, and she nears to press her lips brazenly, against his cheeks. The smell of fresh soil and clean air makes her freeze briefly. A human, of all things, she thinks, not without a delicious thrill.

"Careful," she says, her voice languid and husky and languorous, like honeyed wine. "You still smell of the land."

She relishes the way he jolts with surprise, her fingers splayed against his chest. A bitter smile curls her lip and Rebekah waits for him to flee.

Instead, he says, "Let me show it to you."

Rebekah's heart begins to ache. This is how she falls.

.

.

With the light of the moon to stream their path, Rebekah stares at the stairway to the land of the mortals. For the first time in her long life, she breathes as easy as Spring. She wears only her simplest, yellow silk dress and the brightest beam, her hand fitting in Stefan's like a glove.

Stefan whispers, "You're radiant."

Rebekah smirks, mischievous. "I know."

He carefully helps her take a step. She feels like a girl in a song, beginning to fly.

"Is this Stefan, Rebekah?"

Klaus arrives at the golden gates, and his Viking-gold hair gleams in the moonlight, bright enough that it could be mistaken to be silver. Her brother's eyes are pleasant enough but his voice is taut like the string of a bow.

Rebekah forces herself to be light and still. She turns and pushes Stefan behind her, a motion filled with impatience and quickness. "Nik— _please_."

"Begging, little sister?" Klaus inclines his head. He looks genuinely disappointed, his lips tilted. "How unbecoming of you."

"I want to live with him, Nik," Rebekah says, in a breathless plea. She feels Stefan shifting behind her and wraps her fingers around his wrist to bid him still. "I want to _live_ , Nik."

"As a _Roman_?" Klaus' eyes narrow, cold and dangerous. "Rebekah, love, I thought you had higher standards."

She turns her head slowly, her jaw clenching tightly. Stefan is wearing a sheepish expression. He begins, "Rebekah, I didn't mean—,"

Klaus presses his lips together. "Rebekah, love," he says, and his voice is filled with a mortified pain, "please tell me you know he's a Roman god."

 _I am a fool_ , she thinks for one painful moment. Rebekah sees red. She is hot all over, her heart beating, fast and filled with a burning rage she cannot contain, like the galloping hooves of a horse.

 _I am a fool_ , she thinks again. She pushes at Stefan's chest and turns to her brother, defiant.

Rebekah vows, bold, "You will not have him, Nik."

His eyes burn gold. Klaus tells her, "He was going to use you as a hostage, Rebekah. I will kill him."

Rebekah lifts her chin. "No, you will not."

In this great war of gods and monsters, cities burn and bleed.

.

.

In the end, Klaus lets Stefan live.

In return, he clasps cold iron shackles around Rebekah's thin wrists and confines her away, to a small scrap of the world. She rages, violent and furious and vehement, and howls, a caged thing. _Stefan will come for me_ , Rebekah thinks defiantly towards her brother.

He never comes.

Elijah's finger runs around the rim of the filled teacup, slowly. His mouth is set.

Rebekah watches Elijah with narrowed eyes. She confesses, in a whisper, "I wanted to feel _alive_ , Elijah. Was that so wrong?"

The god of summer wraps cities in unquenchable, overbearing heat. He leaves Limos untouched, for her. "You betrayed us, Rebekah—,"

She slams her chains against the ground, angry and unrestrained, and the marble cracks. "Don't _lie_ to me," Rebekah hisses, in a voice filled with savage bite. She trails iron against the cold marble heatedly. "I didn't betray anyone. Don't tell me you wouldn't run from him, too. If you had the chance, if you could, Elijah, wouldn't you run, too?"

Elijah doesn't answer.

.

.

Rebekah calls, " _Nik!"_

She stalks into his rooms, impatient and petulant like a childish thing. Something crackles under her feet and Rebekah frowns at the lightly scorched ball of paper. It still smokes. She pushes the iron shackles around her wrists away, with an impatient air, and snatches up the paper.

Her brother's elegant hand, the goddess recognises immediately. The girl's face against the thin page, brought to life by careful, soft swipes and the expert, loving pencilled lines, is less familiar. Rebekah's mouth curls.

"What are you up to, Nik?" she murmurs, and turns to the fires burning in the fireplace.

Rebekah throws white ash amidst the flames and watches it flare briefly. Her Limos altar is alight in the sparks. She tilts her head, critical eyes on her young golden-haired maiden running. Limos is her prison but perhaps, it houses her salvation, too. Years of exacting her unfounded vengeance and fury on the people of Limos has lost its fun. Her gaze flickers down to the chains that shackle her wrist.

Her eyes on the drawing of the young maiden, Rebekah begins to think.

.

.

Her mother's glass tomb is cold and Rebekah seats herself beside it, half musing. Niklaus is on his throne, curling in a languid position, an arrogant, determined set to his mouth. He drops papers into the burning flames. Kol turns his head, his eyes alight with a wildness.

He says, "It's no fun teasing you anymore, Nik." He pauses. "You're just so _lovesick_ , brother."

Her hand presses against her mother's cold, hard tomb so deeply a thick bead of blood pools against her fingers. Blood stains the rib of the tomb but Rebekah barely breathes.

"Say another word, Kol," Klaus mutters, "and I'll tear out your liver."

Rebekah lifts her head.

Her brother is drawing and this is nothing new. But there are black ink stains all over his fingers and he smells of forest air and the stuffy, overbearing Limos sun. Nik is surrounded by papers—ink-stained pages and pencilled drawings and sheets with scribbles, most of them scrunched up and thrown away.

Nik adds, without looking up, "Don't touch them."

Her gaze, lingering on her brother's ruffled and messy hair, flickers. "Don't touch what?"

Kol's prying fingers linger on the wild berries growing at the ivy vines curling around the walls. They look delicious and rich, sumptuous like aged, vintage wine. "But they look so _good_ , Nik," Kol says, his eyes still alight with that strangeness. "Sharing _is_ caring, brother."

"If you touch them, I'll bury you in the garden," Klaus snaps. He storms out of the chambers suddenly, Rebekah's eyes on his disappearing back.

She clears her throat. "Lovesick?"

"Haven't you heard?" A smirk slides across Kol's face. "Nik's in _love_."

The god of autumn pops a berry into his mouth.

.

.

Rebekah watches Kol drape himself arrogantly across her chair. He looks strangely exhilarated, his eyes filled with a boyish wickedness. "What do you want, Rebekah? My time is precious."

She has the lingering feeling Kol is exactly where he wants to be. Rebekah demands, "Tell me what you know, Kol."

Her brother feigns innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

She promises, with a roll of her eyes, "I'll give you the witches from my temple."

"Are you calling me a strumpet, sister?" Kol gives a melodramatic gasp, his eyes wide.

Rebekah has no time for games. "Tell me what you know, Kol," she repeats, her voice fraught.

Kol acquiesces, with a crooked smile. "There's a girl Nik's infatuated with," he says. "Her name's Caroline. She's one of yours."

Realisation dawns, sudden and light. Rebekah says, "The priestess from the drawings…"

Kol scoffs. "He thinks he's so subtle."

"It won't work," Rebekah says. She shakes her head, disbelieving. "Nik, in love? He's our brother. We know him best. He would never—,"

His lips are twisted, disappointment lingering at the tilt. "You've lost your touch, Rebekah," Kol comments lazily. "You don't see Nik moping like a lovelorn teenager?" He watches her shake her head and presses his lips together. "They'll be celebrating your feast soon enough. I'll find a way for Nik to attend and you can see how infatuated he is."

Rebekah narrows her eyes. "Why are you doing so much for me?" she asks, sceptical. "The witches I promise you aren't worth this much effort. What is it you really want?"

He presses a hand to his chest and affects a dramatically hurt expression. "Sister," Kol says, showing his teeth, "you really think I don't care?"

Rebekah finds that she does not know what to think. She sees the way his eyes linger on her chains and thinks, _do you?_

 _You're not supposed to care_ , Rebekah thinks, uncertain. Of all her brothers, Kol was the most carefree. But Nik bound her and Elijah deserted her and Finn is gone and now, Kol is the only one left. Perhaps she had mistaken carefree for something else.

She remembers, suddenly, one day Kol whispering into her ear before she left to run away with Stefan. Kol, who looked as though he knew _exactly_ what his little sister had planned, whose eyes sparkled with wickedness and adventure, who whispered, "If he breaks your heart, little sister, I promise you I will shatter his."

Rebekah remembers, after the war, Kol had left. She had assumed he had gone to some sunny island with his priestesses and his witches but then she remembers Stefan had been beaten against his own temple. The Roman god had bled on his own steps, had fallen like a leaf in autumn, and Rebekah had laughed and laughed when she had heard.

She lifts her head and though Kol's eyes are wicked, they hold something more.

.

.

 **ACT TWO**

His fingers press the maps down, impatient. Klaus rubs at his face, lifting his head briefly when Rebekah arrives in his rooms. He asks, the question sudden and absentminded, "What are you doing with my wolves, Rebekah?"

His sister rolls her eyes. "Just having a little bit of fun, Nik." She tilts an eyebrow at him. "Would you begrudge me that, big brother?"

Rebekah moves to the table where he stands, poring over the maps. Her chains rattle loudly, purposefully. She puts a hand on the map, on top of Athens. "Elijah is calling us to dinner."

Klaus murmurs, "I will eat. Later." His voice is easy and light, the barest trace of attention in his words. He pays no attention to Rebekah, moving to pick up the wolf figurehead from where the gates of Limos lie.

"If you don't come, Nik, we'll all be subjected to Elijah's lectures on why it is good manners to attend dinner at the correct times. And then I'll be forced to do something like pull out your teeth in your sleep."

He ignores his sister and rolls the wolf figurehead within his fingers. They are stuck, immortalised gods with equal power. The Romans were fools to challenge them but Klaus needs something to tip the scales—he needs old magic, the ancient and forbidden stuff. "The moonstone. I need the moonstone."

He will render them to the dust they rose from.

"You need that old thing?" Rebekah's lip curls in distaste. "It's somewhere in my city."

Klaus sets the wolf figurehead down. "Limos?" His voice is demanding. "It's in Limos?"

Rebekah levels a glower at him, her voice dripping in derision, a bitter thing. "Is there any other city that is mine?"

He moves with impatience, leaving Rebekah behind. Her words drift after him and Klaus pauses, ever so slightly.

"You're welcome, big brother."

.

.

Limos is a stifling city, packed in unbearable heat.

Klaus walks into the city, slow and unhurried, his hands laced together behind his back. His careful, critical gaze sweeps across the place and Klaus lets his lip curve. Such a shame his vicious little sister was capable of such vengeance, he thinks. Limos could have turned magnificent. He turns his head to cast an eye over the dry harvest.

The sun colours the marble of Rebekah's temple red and bloody. It is filled with a feverish buzz. Her priestesses are celebrating another of Rebekah's solstices. In vain, Klaus thinks. His sister has her city in her thrall. They throw feasts for her and pray for her and starve for her—and she grants them not a bone.

To think the moonstone could have been here, under his very nose, within the cracks of the only city Rebekah could hold. It is a cruel feat worthy of the ironic games the universe likes to play.

Klaus moves slowly up the steps, forever patient. The High Priestess' eyes find him and narrow.

"Men are not allowed here." Her voice is high and cold, expecting to be obeyed.

Klaus turns his head lightly. "And so they shouldn't be," he agrees. His lips quirk, amused, and he continues moving.

"Young man, the rules do not except you."

"They wouldn't," Klaus says, "if I were a young man." He tilts his head at Ayanna and his eyes glow a burnt gold.

He would be lying if he did not admit he enjoyed the sudden hoarse gasp Ayanna lets slip through her lips. The High Priestess bends in a low, respectful curtsey, her head kept lowered, until Klaus has passed.

The temple is gleaming gold and red in the glow of the sun. Klaus' gaze flickers briefly to the statue of him, his lips pulling up into a small smirk. He wonders which of the citizens he could use to set them on the search. Rebekah would protest to his using her priestesses so they can either be seduced or left alone.

He is musing over using the Lockwood boy to do his bidding when he hears a plea.

"Please, Mom," he hears a voice say, filled with an earnestness. "Let's _leave_."

"This is my home, Caroline," another voice replies, this one calm and patient. Klaus recognises the authoritarian note in the voice. He used to hear it in Mikael and he cannot stop himself from stiffening automatically. "This war of the gods does not concern us. We will be safe enough."

"They say the Hybrid God's wolves are gathering," the girl says, not to be deterred. "Lady Rebekah is barring us in—for her own amusement. Her brother confines her to Limos for her betrayal and she'll wreak havoc on us. She's a vengeful goddess, Mom. It's dangerous for us to stay."

Klaus' eyes narrow and he turns, his interest piqued.

His eyes roam, searching uninterestedly past gleaming gowns, silver and gold and grey, until he sees the girl in gold, talking earnestly to her mother. She's a glorious vision, he thinks, appreciative. She wears a carefully crafted crown of flowers, of wild roses and violets and white daisies threaded together with some simple ribbon. He recognises the earnest ache in her eyes, the way she holds herself.

A dreamer, he thinks, caught uncertain. She is one of those girls who burns and rages for more. _What are you still doing in this cage of a city?_

Her mother's lip curls, and she begins to steer the two away. "You've been listening to Bonnie's tales, haven't you?"

The girl flushes, caught. "In my defence, she's a witch so..."

His lips pull up into an unconscious, small curve, and he looks after the girl.

" _Caroline_ ," Klaus repeats, through the roaring of his ears.

.

.

Elijah shakes his head. "No," he mutters and places the figurehead of a sun in the middle of Rome. "It will be a dry and long summer for them." He lifts his head. "How fares the search for the moonstone, brother?"

Klaus presses his lips together. "Very poorly," he answers. "Our sister has forgotten where she last left it and Tyler Lockwood is the poorest excuse for a minion. The boy has nothing on his mind but some Elena girl."

His oldest brother's fingers linger on the figurehead of the sun. "This is the priestess girl with the twin sister?"

"Katherine," Klaus affirms. His eyes, dark and thoughtful, stay on Elijah.

The doors of the throne room crash open, iron chains dragging against the marble floors. Rebekah huffs. "You," she says, looking annoyed, "need to train your wolves better, Nik."

"They are not house pets, Rebekah. You can't take them for _walks_."

"They tore to pieces some woman a few days before," Rebekah hisses.

Elijah's head snaps up. "What woman?" he demands, his voice filled with an urgency.

Rebekah casts an unimpressed, confused eye on him. She continues, with a shrug, "Blonde—a mother. I got her daughter as a priestess. Anyhow, that's not the problem. Their claws scratched her face so deeply she was still bleeding when she was laid to rest. Nik, you savage."

"We do not call each other names," Elijah says. He seems calmer now, and Klaus' critical gaze lingers on him.

Klaus' eyes flicker across the fires roaring in the fireplace. _Brother_ , he thinks with some derision, _you ought to know better_. He recognises the look of Elijah beginning to fall in love. When he tilts his head, he realises, with a jolt, Rebekah does too.

Elijah clears his throat. He asks, "Does anyone know where Kol might have gone?"

"Isn't he on one of his islands?" Klaus lets a sneer tilt his lips into an ugly curve.

"Where else?" Rebekah agrees. "Manwhore."

.

.

Kol asks, in a lilting singsong, "And where are you off to, Nik?"

"Business," Klaus grumbles. Though Kol's face is the picture of innocence, he swears his brother smirks. Kol has always had that special talent of managing to find that specific way of annoying him, more than any of his other siblings. Even Finn, who renounced their name, called them heathens, and lives like a hermit on the other side of the world, couldn't do any better. "Leave me be, Kol."

"What a _grumpface_ you're turning into, Nik." Kol's eyes are sparkling. "You're just no fun these years."

He firmly turns his back on his brother and moves to tend to the leaves of his vines. They curl up against his palace walls, clinging to the brick, growing wild berries. It has been years since the first time he stumbled on Caroline pleading with her mother. He has made a few trips back to Limos—very few. Just enough to continue his search for the moonstone and see the starving ruin Rebekah's rendered it to. Klaus rubs his finger against the berries. They are ripe and he plucks them from their stems.

He pauses before leaving them to grow in the side of Rebekah's temple.

Caroline, lovely in all the light of the sun-soaked temple, turns to find them. Her lips are stained a delicious red with the juice of the berries, and his heart is caught.

.

.

Klaus cannot help himself, a helpless slave to his emotions, and returns to Limos, after the feast. Once, twice, three times—until Caroline is reclining on thick green grass, her golden hair slipping past one shoulder. She lifts her head up to look at him, as he draws. She creates quite a delectable picture, more beautiful than Helen of Troy herself with sun-kissed skin and her golden curls and completely unaware of her siren charm.

Caroline's eyes narrow over her cup of red wine. She says, thoughtfully, "What's your real name?"

His pencil pauses above the paper. Klaus wonders— _do I dare?_ His throat threatens to draw his last breaths as he hears himself say, "Niklaus."

She laughs, a delightful thing. "Like the Hybrid God?"

His heart is in his throat. "Exactly."

He watches her body tense up, watches her face drain itself of colour. Caroline drops her cup of wine and it crashes to the green ground, the sound swallowed up by mud. Thick red liquid spills slowly over the grass, looking too much like blood.

"The gods are real?"

"You're a priestess, love," Klaus says, his wild and desperate eyes on her. "I thought blinding faith came along with the job title."

She's not listening. _"Metrokoites."_

Klaus chokes.

Caroline's cheeks are flushed. "So," she pauses, with some difficulty, "Lady—Rebekah's your sister? Does—does that mean she hears everything Katherine and I have said about her? Because there's hate and then there's constructive criticism—," She breaks off, quite suddenly, and her breath catches.

He waits. If Kol were here, his little brother would be splitting his sides. _You respect this girl so much you'd tell her the truth of what you are, brother? This is why Mikael tried to kill you, weak, worthless—_

Caroline lifts her head. "Your wolves killed my mother." She is quiet. "Are you going to kill me too?"

What a reputation we've collected. The girl sees a god and assumes he will tear out her throat. She thinks _him_ so monstrous. _I could_ , Klaus thinks dully. He could snap her pale and lovely neck, watch her bleed out like the red wine trailing the long jade green stems of the grass.

Before the thrumming of his heart can grow any louder, he says, "No."

Her ice blue eyes are dark with defiance and raw determination. "Our lives are not our own," Caroline says softly. "Ayanna told me that. 'The gods play with them like bored cats to a ball of string.' I will not be your ball of string."

Klaus pauses, growing serious. "You're speaking to a god, Caroline." His voice is low, his eyes dark. "You would be wise to speak with respect."

"I'll speak to you with respect when you've earned it," Caroline says. She looks at him. "My mom taught me that."

She turns her back on him.

.

.

He sits at the edge of a marbled pillar, quiet and still and waiting.

The god of winter eyes the slowly rising sun, growing to make the city unbearable with heat. Klaus raises a dismissive hand and suddenly, the morning turns cool and light. The city is steeped in honeycomb gold light, making it glow brilliantly, and turns the air from steaming into soothing.

"What do you want?" Caroline's fingers curl over the handle of a metal blade.

Klaus watches her. "Did the little witch give that to you?" She says nothing, her eyes dark with suspicion and mistrust. He clears his throat. "I'm sorry about your mother. I didn't know what Rebekah was doing with my wolves."

She looks away, her eyes bright. "Bonnie says that you're supposed to have no control in this city," Caroline says, and her voice is cool and light. "How are you here?"

Klaus' lips quirk. "I have my ways, when I want something." He watches the wariness in her face. "There's something I'm searching for. A moonstone."

He is always wanting, always aching, for more. Finn had accused him of a boundless hunger, of never being content, but Klaus recognises the same ache in her. He wants to see her discover the world and all its pleasures.

"A moonstone?" Caroline repeats, her voice interested in spite of herself. She narrows her eyes. "What will it do?"

Klaus says, "Decimate the Roman threat lurking at our borders."

He watches Caroline barely try to mask her cold fear. _She isn't foolish, then,_ he thinks and is torn between wanting to rejoice and wanting to howl. It is as though the universe made her for him, made her bold and adventurous and brave and completely horrified by the thought of him.

"It's in Limos." Caroline tilts her head at him. "And you've no idea where."

He lets his lips curve, impressed. "You know the city better than I."

She blinks, brows drawing together. Caroline repeats his words, in a bare murmur. She stares, and her fingers clench tightly around the handle of the blade. "I heard those exact words from Tyler. He's been acting strange lately—did you do something to him?"

Klaus does not say anything for a moment. Then he speaks, his voice a stiff, tight thing. "I used every advantage I had at my disposal. Even my power has its limits."

"You took away his _free will_." Caroline's voice is tremulous, and she stares at Klaus as though she cannot quite believe him. "You've got a habit of doing that. First your sister, now my friends?"

His jaw clenches, and Klaus points to the blade Caroline is holding. "You are willing to kill for the Lockwood boy and you can't even try to find a stone for me? And here I thought we were becoming friends."

"You want my friendship?" Caroline says, her voice defiant and challenging. She tilts her head at him. "Earn that, too."

.

.

Rebekah's howls echo off his walls, reaching him before she bursts into his rooms. "Nik, they're in Limos." Her chains clatter against the ground.

Klaus knows who she speaks of before she even finds him, and his fingers clench around a Roman soldier figurehead on the map. He lifts his head from the map, his jaw taut with fury.

"The wolves are dead at the gates," Kol says. "Nik?"

Kol's face is grave as he presses a golden letter to the table. It is sealed, with the familiar red crest of the Salvatores. Klaus uses the blade at his waist to rip it open. Its contents spill out onto the round marbled table. He snatches up the letter and reads it, thinking furiously.

Elijah picks up the letter after Klaus has thrown it down. His voice is terse. "They want us to surrender Rome."

"Never," Rebekah says. She lifts her head. "Let them destroy the city. I'll raise it from the ashes."

 _"No."_

The snarl rips from Klaus' throat before he can stop himself. They are bound to the city—Rebekah is chained to it. And the thought of lovely Caroline bleeding out into the Limos soil makes him want to tear Rome to pieces.

Elijah is stiff. "Then what do you propose—,"

"Go to Limos." Klaus looks at Elijah, his eyes dark.

Elijah is gone, in an instant.

He sweeps from the room, in long, striding steps filled with purpose. Klaus tosses white ash into the flames of the throne room, the golden fire blazing brilliantly. Limos appears amidst golden fire and flame, surrounded by the full might of Rome's forces.

Damon arrives, with a satisfied smirk tilting his lips. He drips his cup of nectar. "Nice amphitheatre." He tilts his head, his eyes wild. "Tell your wolves to get out of Rome, Klaus."

"I've seen you in war." Klaus lifts dark eyes to Damon. "You don't have what it takes to raze an entire city to the ground."

"Fine." Damon shrugs, careless. "Then we're going to burn your sister's temple first. Didn't you tie her to that thing?" A smug smirk curves his lips. "Does that mean she'll burn, too?"

"I beat one brother to his knees," Kol says, his voice wild and reckless. "Might as well complete the set." He drives his bat against the back of Damon's knees.

"Kol—he's _mine_." Rebekah shoves at Kol's shoulder. She wraps her fingers with her chains and bends to crack her knuckles against Damon's face.

The Roman god howls in pain but even as he sinks to the ground, he holds a bloody smile. "You really think I'm so stupid I'd send myself here?" Damon flickers, gold and glasslike.

Klaus' eyes are on the Roman soldiers who are moving towards the temple, with lighted torches. "Stop," he says, through gritted teeth.

"What's that? I didn't hear you."

"You win," Klaus bites out, his voice vicious. "Stop _this_." He barks out an order for his wolves to fall back from Rome.

Damon's eyes are wicked and bright. "Pleasure doing business," he says, before he disappears.

.

.

Klaus stands, tall and searching.

They sought each other out, in the aftermath of the Romans marching on her city, their previous arguments simmering slowly in the dust. He drinks in Caroline's unharmed frame, and says nothing. Something curls up inside him and he knows he has fallen too deep now.

"What does it do?" Caroline's head lifts. Her crown of flowers lies, unfinished and thriving with life, in her lap. "The moonstone."

Klaus says, his voice easy and quiet, "It takes away the curse of what you are." He explains, "It can turn a god into a mortal."

She says, thoughtful, "And that's what you want to do to the Roman gods."

Klaus inclines his head, low. "They went after my family." His lips quirk a little. "I imagine you know what that's like, when someone threatens your loved ones."

"Yeah," Caroline murmurs, her eyes dark and heavy, "I do."

She looks surprised at herself, but Klaus is not. Like him, Caroline is capable of doing what needs to be done. The attack on Rome had her seizing a blade and ready to slit a man's throat for grabbing at her friend, Katherine.

He asks, "Would you want that to happen to you?" Klaus tilts his head. "If the moonstone were to pass to you, it could strip away your priestess status from you. Would you take it?"

"If I wasn't a priestess, bound to Lady Rebekah?" Caroline cants her face to the skies, something hopeful and hesitant caught in the light of her blue eyes. She clears her throat. "Well, that's not going to happen. Serving for life comes along with the job." She doesn't look very happy, but Klaus does not comment on it. "You need to hurry up and find it. The Romans will come back."

"I'm working on it, love."

.

.

"The Salvatores have come to bargain," Elijah says suddenly, the next evening. He casts a long shadow on the ground from where he stands at the doorway.

Rebekah's head lifts. She asks, her voice tight, "Is Stefan there?"

Elijah inclines his head. "Do refrain yourselves from acting like hooligans. We have reputations to maintain." He looks at Rebekah, whose mouth is hard. "That means no skewering our dinner guests, sister."

Klaus' eyes are on the drawing of Caroline. He picks it up and slowly drops it into the flames. "They know they have no advantage," he says. "This stalemate benefits them less."

Kol says, his eyes wicked, "This should be fun."

The dinner should be amusing, he thinks, if purely for Elijah's conflicted state. His eldest brother is torn between how impolite it would be to turn away a guest at their doors and the terrible manners of Stefan and Damon arriving unannounced. He seats himself at the table and Klaus settles back to amuse himself, his eyes on Elijah.

"Do help yourself," Elijah says, his voice light and polite.

Damon shrugs. "Don't mind if I do," he says and reaches over Rebekah for a bowl of black olives.

Klaus looks at Elijah. His eldest brother's smile is painful. "To what can we attest," Klaus says, and he tears a piece of freshly baked bread for himself, "for the pleasure of your companies?"

"A proposition," Stefan says. "We're giving you one last chance to put this war to an end."

"And what is it you want?" Elijah asks, pleasantly.

"You surrender your forces and your powers out of Rome," Stefan says, his voice easy and sibilant. "We give you back your half of Greece."

Klaus' lips quirk in amusement. A hiss of foul curses escape Rebekah's lips, and Klaus tilts his head at Elijah. His eyes flicker toward Kol, who promptly breaks Rebekah's wrist. She gives a groan, glowering through hooded eyes.

"And how," Rebekah asks, in a tight voice, "do we know we can trust you?"

His elbows placed on the table, Kol agrees. "You haven't got the best track record. You were going to run away with my strumpet of a sister, after all."

Rebekah skewers a fork through Kol's hand. There is blood, ruby-red and alive, running against the cracks and crevices of the dinner table, staining the silverware. Elijah presses his lips together into a thin, hard line, and his voice is a low breath.

"For goodness' sake," he says. "That was real silver."

"My sister's question still stands." Klaus leans in. "How do we know we can trust you to keep your word?"

Damon's lips lift into a curve, and his eyes flicker over the blood seeping against bone-white china dishes. "You're just going to have to take a leap of faith, then, aren't you?" His smile is cocky.

He thinks, _I would peel the smile from your teeth, if Elijah would not subject me to a lecture._ Klaus narrows his eyes. "I'm afraid I can't do that, mate," he says. Leaps of faith require some semblance of trust held by both sides. Klaus wouldn't trust that smile if it offered him the world on a silvered platter.

"Well," Damon says, his smile turning twisted and stiff, "we tried your way, Stef."

Beside him, Kol starts, a sharp intake of breath caught between his lips, "Nik—,"

The Roman god leaps for Klaus' throat.

His fingers close around the handle of a silver knife and Klaus drives it up into Damon's neck. Damon's hands are still around his throat, forcing him to the ground. His chair breaks, wooden splinters strewn around the broken china dishes and the scattered silverware. Damon reaches to pull out the knife and tosses it away, his smile savage and bloody.

The large gaping windows are behind him, pressed up against his back. A raw snarl rips from his throat. Klaus' fingers clench tight around Damon's throat and he focuses, ice creeping through his veins. Hoarfrost steals across Damon's skin, tight and burning the god's flesh. A vicious, arrogant smile cuts across his features and Klaus rises, forcing Damon to his feet.

Klaus lifts his chin, and lets the Roman breathe. He knows the viciousness of his own magic, knows how much more painful ice is after letting the flesh heal. Damon lunges, with his fist clenched, and Klaus lazily blocks it, his fingers wrapped around the fist. His smile widens into something feral, _wolfish_.

"You thought you could challenge _me_?"

"No." Damon's voice is hoarse. His head lifts and there is a wild, triumphant smirk playing on his lips. "I knew I could _beat_ you."

He moves his other hand, razor-fast, and the flash of a silver dagger flickers against the palace walls. Damon drives the dagger down into his chest, with a vicious twist of his lips, and the force of it all slams him away.

When raw fire bursts out across his chest, Klaus howls and he falls from the skies, a roaring in his ears.

.

.

"Another bad harvest so Kat, we're going to…"

Her voice drifts across to him, light and graceful. There is a dull burning sensation in his chest, and Klaus opens his eyes, slow and heavy. Caroline stares, open-mouthed and glorious in the Limos sunlight.

" _Klaus?"_ Her voice is a whisper, a trapping of breath caught between her teeth. "What happened to you?"

Klaus stares at her, and thinks, _I tried to forget you_. Countless drawings he had dropped into the fire and yet, his heart still aches when he looks at her. There is emotion twisting in her features, and Klaus hopes it might be genuine concern for him.

He thinks, _Niklaus, you hopeless fool_.

"Damon attacked me," he says. The pain in his chest grows sharp, and he winces at his own blinding arrogance. He grunts in pain, and reaches for the handle of the blade to pull it out. Caroline winces, and it clatters against the ground. Klaus lets out a breath between his teeth, of sweet relief, of heady liberation.

She eyes it, carefully. "White ash," she says. "Isn't that lethal to gods?"

"I'm not just a god, love," Klaus tells her, and his flesh begins to knit itself back together. "I'm something more."

Caroline rolls her eyes at him. "Won't it affect the rest of your family, then?"

If Stefan and Damon have more of the blades, his siblings are in danger. White ash is poison to them, would kill them slowly, painfully. He needs the moonstone, Klaus thinks. He needed it yesterday. A dark, consuming anger begins to grow in his veins, and Klaus stumbles to his feet.

"What are you doing _now_?" Caroline demands hotly. "Do you know what will happen if anyone sees a man in my chambers? I have to deal with the failed harvest and now you—,"

He says, through gritted teeth, "Caroline. You're beautiful, but if you don't stop talking, I will kill you."

"That's just your response to everything, isn't it? Kill or cage up whatever's annoying you?" She glares at him. "You can't confront the truth of what you are, which is an overcontrolling and paranoid asshole!"

"And you think what you pretend to be is any better?" Klaus lets out a tight, controlled breath. "You refuse to admit the truth of what you are, which is a small-town priestess and that's never going be enough for you."

"I am reaching out to you, despite everything you've done, and you're still wrapped up in yourself!" Caroline rages. "All I'm asking is that you get rid of your wolves, to do the decent thing for _once_!"

His eyes turn into slits, burning molten gold. "I am a _god_!" Klaus roars at her. "I will not bow to you!"

Caroline barely flinches. She shouts back, her cheeks flushed, "You won't have anyone bowing to you, when we all die of starvation!" She looks at him defiantly. "Call back your wolves. Let us open up our gates again."

"I will not have my hand forced by you or anyone!"

"You wanted my friendship?" Caroline scowls, through gritted teeth. Her hands are quivering, her breaths unsteady. "I'm offering it to you on a golden platter, and you still can't get out of your own head!" She turns away.

"Don't turn your back on me!"

 _"I should have turned my back on you ages ago!"_

She lets out an involuntary gasp, her eyes wide and vulnerable. Klaus realises, all of a sudden, he is too close to her face. His eyes drop to her lips before meeting her gaze. Caroline pulls away first, her breaths hoarse.

"Caroline—," Her name tastes like wine in his mouth. "Thank you for your honesty."

Caroline looks up from beneath her lashes, blue eyes alight. "Are you going to call back your wolves?"

He takes a breath. "They're not exactly guarding the gates very well." Klaus looks at her, hopeful.

She breaks into a small smile, the air between them still taut and thick with unspoken words. Caroline moves to her little table, noiselessly, and her fingers curl over a small trinket box. Her mother's, Klaus thinks absently, his eyes never leaving her. It smells of sentiment. Caroline opens it briefly, before turning on one heel to drop the moonstone into his palm.

There's a very satisfied smile at her lips.

.

.

He deals with the Romans with more mercy than he would have ever expected of himself.

Rome is delivered back to its people but Klaus gives Damon to Rebekah for a week to break. She promises him viciously she'll do a fantastic job and Kol follows, his lip curling. They give Stefan his freedom, along with his brother, and Elijah begins to propose efforts to create a lasting peace.

Klaus repeats, "A bountiful harvest? Is this Limos we're still speaking of?"

His sister shakes her head at him, and Rebekah kneels to tend to her fires. She scatters white ash into the flames, and Klaus turns his head to watch the High Priestess of her temple appear. He lets a smile curve his lips at how easy it always is to manipulate his little sister.

"The harvest," Rebekah says, her voice filled with arrogance and disdain, "will be rich and plentiful, should you prove your love and devotion to me."

The High Priestess looks distraught. "My lady, we struggle with our offerings, so few—,"

Rebekah interrupts, "A sacrifice should do." She looks satisfied, and her eyes burn unusually bright.

Kol puts in, "Use that delicious little witch of yours to look into the flames."

"Kol, you pervert." Rebekah throws her goblet at him, the remnants of the wine spilling over the marbled columns.

.

.

Rebekah calls, "Nik! Come watch!"

Klaus gives a resigned sigh. He debates staying where he is, painting, and wonders if it is worth the resounding argument Rebekah will pour into his ears. He moves to his sister's side. "What am I watching?"

"The sacrifice," Rebekah chides. "Do you never listen to me?"

He stiffens, recognising Caroline standing at the altar, and turns his face to Rebekah. His sister appears not to have noticed his muted panic, her face holding an unmeasurable amount of glee. Klaus' eyes fall to Caroline.

She's etched in the rich gold of the sun's light glow, pale yellow skirts rippling around her legs as she stands with her head held high. The dress is a delicate gold, framed around the softness of her body, and she smells of decadence and wild roses. Woven into her fair hair are gold beads and leaves dipped in gold, her skin soft and still slightly damp with heady oils.

The sun gleams beside her and yet, Caroline burns brighter.

The little witch whispers a string of feverish enchantments at Rebekah's altar. "Please, _please_ —," She drops herbs into the fires, at a frantic pace, and the fires turn blue. "Lady Rebekah, hear my prayer."

Rebekah leans in, with some delight. "Distraught little thing, isn't she?" she comments lazily, to Klaus. "Oh, don't look at me like that, Nik. I've got to have some entertainment, don't I? I suppose you wouldn't understand, not having been confined to a mere scrap of the world like myself."

There is bitterness in Rebekah's tone and Klaus bristles at it. He opens his mouth, but he hears the softest whimper drawn from Caroline's lips. They press the blade against her throat and her breath hitches. Rebekah is watching him.

"Such a shame," she says, her voice light, "that a young girl like that is wasted so."

Klaus' eyes narrow in on Caroline. He sees her back straighten, realises the very moment she accepts she will be seeing her mother again.

"How much do you think the little witch wants me to save her little friend?" Rebekah asks him happily.

The knife gleams and Klaus sees the first few drops of blood. It pools against Caroline's lovely, pale throat. He lets out a low breath between his teeth. "Stop it, Rebekah." A satisfied smile takes Rebekah's lips slowly. "What will you have?"

His sister wastes no time. "Why, my freedom, of course, brother," she says, her voice languid and delighted. She lifts her arms, and the iron shackles around her wrists clatter together.

She knows she has him.

.

.

"Am I dead?"

Her voice is like silk, her eyes burning blue. Caroline is crumpled against his stone feet, and up above, a wild storm rumbles. Blood flows like wine, spilling over her beautiful dress and soaking it in red.

Klaus shakes his head. "Not yet."

Her lips spread into a small, bitter smile. He wonders briefly what goes on behind those bright eyes of hers. "If this is what it takes for the harvest," she says, her voice quiet and musing, "I could do it."

He says, his voice soft, "You could bleed out all over my feet and be returned to the stars. If you wanted."

Caroline looks like she might be tempted, and her gaze lifts slowly towards the rumbling skies. Her eyes fall to him. "But the world is so much more than that," she says. "I wanted to see it all."

"You're free," he says, "to explore it all."

She lifts her eyes to his face. "No," Caroline corrects, her voice dry. "I'm _dying_." Her weak fingers trail against the pool of blood defiantly, as if to prove her point.

Klaus presses his lips together. "Your little witch friend is doing her best to save you. Her efforts could go to waste." He tilts his head. "I could let you die, if that's what you really want."

He hopes it's not what she really wants.

Her eyes, burning and bright and blazing with life, find his. "When I wake, I will be _free_."

A smile touches her lips.

It matches his.

.

.

The chains clatter to the ground, and Rebekah lets out a breath she has been holding for years. She has lost a priestess for this freedom, but she would have willingly sacrificed a thousand more.

Lady Rebekah shakes out her hair, and steps into the light, tall and smiling.

.

.

Rain _finally_ bursts across the grey skies, and glistening, gleaming droplets stream down the marbled columns of the temple. The smell of earth lingers in the air, and it _pours_.

Katherine's ringing screams turn into loud whoops of delight. A delighted smile takes hold of Caroline's lips and she runs down the steps of the temple, amongst the startled crowds of people. Her eyes are on only one person.

The rushing wind whispers through her hair, and lustrous raindrops thrum against the ground. It drenches them all. Caroline's bare feet touches the damp earth, and her eyes are like fire, burning and blazing and _ready_.

By the gods, she is _free_.

She is soaked to the skin, and Caroline seizes Klaus' hand.

"Let's go see the world."

.

* * *

 **stop talking:** lol what a hot mess. if anyone's confused at the structure or the timeline, the time between the feast and the sacrifice, all of that fun roman god war stuff happens. pm me if you've got questions, i'm happy to answer.

also how obsessed am i with klaus trying to get rid of his feelings by burning all the thousands of pictures he drew of caroline, like boo, stop trying kol sees all the food you're trying to grow for her. speaking of the devil, kol's a slippery asshole to pin down, in terms of characterisation. plus i had so much fun writing bratty rebekah. props to anyone who figured that her being chained was supposed to be a parallel to her being daggered on the show. limos is the goddess of starvation so the nerd in me did a felicity fist pump. also are we still doing disclaimers because do i own anything other than crippling social anxiety.

also.

google _metrokoites._


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